


Surrender

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Formula One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in June 2012 for Motorskink.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>She's wearing that scent again. The one she was wearing that day at the hospital in Budapest.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

She's wearing that scent again. The one she was wearing that day at the hospital in Budapest. The one that led you to Lucy's bedside table, picking up each of her perfume bottles to try to identify what it was. As it wafts around the room, it takes you back to when you were holding her close and telling her that Felipe was a fighter, that he'd pull through.

You try to concentrate on your laptop screen as you sit in hospitality, sipping a glass of water. Now and then, you look up at her. She's sitting alone, idly tapping out a text message on her mobile, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She's wearing hardly any make-up – you like that about her. Her large, wide, brown eyes need no enchancement; her olive skin is perfect as it is.

Your chair makes an absurdly loud scraping noise as you get up, and from the corner of your eye you see her look up. You clear your throat as you approach, and your cheeks feel distinctly pink.

"Raffaela," you say, feeling awkward at the way your accent makes her name sound. "Can I get you a drink? A coffee?"

She shakes her head and smiles.

"I am fine. Thank you."

You shove your hands in your pockets and nod. You chew on your bottom lip as you try to think of something to say, and suddenly you feel like you're back at school, asking out one of the popular girls.

"Felipe won't be too long. Must be boring for you, waiting while he does interviews."

She smiles again.

"It's fine. It's not so bad waiting in here."

Your mind goes blank and you sit back down. You listen to the rattle of the gold bracelets on her slender, tanned arms as she picks her mobile up again. 

"Rob?" You suddenly hear her voice. 

"Yeah?"

"I think I _would_ like a coffee." 

*

You try to ignore the leap in your stomach when you see Felipe holding Raffaela's hand as they enter the paddock. You hadn't known she was coming this weekend. Felipe's face splits into a wide grin when he sees you walking to meet them, and he gives you his customary hug and gentle punch on the arm. You hug him back, grinning. Normally you'd say something rude or blokey to him, or tell him to fuck off, but with _her_ here, you don't want to swear. You don't want to pollute the air she inhabits, even though once or twice, you've heard her spit out curses in her native language when something bad has happened on track.

You lean in to politely kiss her cheek, and you resist the temptation to inhale, to indulge yourself in the scent of her perfume and the smell of her long, freshly washed hair. She touches your arm lightly as you press your lips to her cheek, and her hand brushes against yours when she takes it away, fingers gripping onto your index finger so briefly that you thought you may have imagined it.

When you pull away, you look at her. She glances down at the ground shyly, before looking up and meeting your gaze. You raise an eyebrow, asking her something, what you're not sure – but she bites down on her lip briefly before turning her head away and smiling wanly at Felipe.

*

You can't get her out of your head. When you're trying to get to sleep, whether at home or at a race, she's at the forefront of your mind. When you're awake and busy, the thought of her is always lingering there somewhere, ready to take over all your thoughts if you gave her half a chance. You throw yourself into helping Felipe with the car; guilt making you go through long set-up changes and pages and pages of telemetry; anything to make him perform better, anything to make you feel less miserable about the fact you're falling for his wife.

She stands at the back of the garage at the end of a good qualifying session. You put your head down and try to walk past as if you haven't seen her, but she blocks your path with her arm, mouthing _'thank you'_ and standing on her tiptoes to kiss you lightly on the lips. 

"Stop it," you whisper. She pulls back, a puzzled expression on her face. It was an innocent kiss in full view of the cameras and mechanics, nothing that could be seen as anything more than friendly, but you can't bear this. The feel of her mouth on yours, how feminine and petite she is – you're only human, you can't deal with that amount of contact without wanting to wrap your hand around the back of her head and kiss her, _really_ kiss her. Kiss her the way you've never seen Felipe kiss her. You're taller than he is; broader - and maybe stronger, too. You could envelope her with your arms and body the way his small frame never could. You could...

"What do you want me to stop?" she asks you later, as she sees you leaving the motorhome. You pause on the steps as she takes your hand. Hers feels cool and small against your palm, and you are more aware than ever that in this world of sweat and competition and testosterone, she is something fresh and delicate. Something clean.

You pause before answering.

"Stop doing whatever it is you're doing to me."

Momentarily, she looks hurt and you feel scared she's going to run off, tell Felipe that you were cruel to her. But she takes a step up towards you, placing a finger squarely on your chin, letting it rest on the dimple that girls have told you they find so cute. 

"I like this," she says. 

"Raffaela... "

"What?" She moves her finger up to your lips and you want nothing more than to take it into your mouth, to taste her. "I can't tell you that?"

"No. And you know why not."

*

She's tipsy, as the party in Monaco ends. You watch from a safe distance as she stands up, swaying slightly, and setting down an empty champagne flute. Under the dim lights of the yacht, she looks beautiful in a tight black dress that shows off her coltish legs. You look down at the floor, anything to stop yourself from staring at her. You should have left the party an hour ago; or you should have gone with Felipe to chat and joke with some of the sponsors on the upper deck of the boat.

"Roooooob," she calls, waving you over. You shrug, not wanting to respond to her call, but she beckons you. 

"Home," she says sleepily, allowing you to lead her gently down the gangplank and back onto the solid ground of the harbour. You hold onto her arm the whole time so she doesn't slip, and her skin feels warm and soft.

"I'll go and get Felipe," you say, but she shakes her head.

"Stay with me?"

You attempt to lead her to a wall a little way down the road so she can sit down, but she lolls against you, throwing her arms around your neck and pressing her face against yours. Her lips brush against your cheek, until against all your better judgement, you move your face slightly so your mouth connects with hers. You don't move and neither does she; you stand there, lips touching lips, no sound coming from either of you. You don't open your mouth, knowing that if you do, it will change everything. It's her that makes the decision to do so, prising your lips open with her tongue and sliding it against yours. You hear yourself giving a slight sigh as you place your hands on the small of her back.

"We can't... " you plead, pulling away before anyone sees the two of you.

*

She's floored you, that's for sure. You wish she would stop showing up at races, but when she doesn't, an ache develops in your chest for the duration of the weekend. You love your wife, but suddenly she doesn't seem enough. You avoid Felipe's texts and calls in between races – you can't bear to hear what he and Raffaela are up to. You're not a bad man, nor do you take infidelity lightly, but you feel torn apart by the need to see and touch her.

And then, suddenly, you find yourself alone with her. Felipe's late back from a sponsor event, and you open the door to your hotel room to find her standing there. She says nothing as she links her hands around the back of your neck, allowing you to pull her inside the room, her toes sliding along the plush carpet of the room as you do so.

You grip one another tightly as you stand in the middle of the room, your mouths pushed together. You're half-scared to touch her, so small is her frame. But she kisses you softly just underneath your earlobe, and you give a small mumble of satisfaction.

"You never speak to me," she whispers into your ear. "Why won't you talk to me when you see me in the garage?"

"I don't know how," you reply. "I've never met someone like you before."

She laughs softly, clasping your face in her palms and planting a long kiss on your mouth.

"I think about those eyes of yours before I go to sleep every night," she confesses, and your heart rises up into your throat, making your voice sound strangled.

"Please, Raffaela... "

You allow her to take your hand and slip it underneath her sheer blouse. Her breasts are firm, soft, perfect. You feel yourself stirring _there_ and you know that you need to tell her to get out, leave, never speak to you again. 

"Don't break my heart by saying no," she begs, as she takes your other hand and edges it under the waistband of her skirt.

She feels warm, slick down there, and you give an agonised moan as you give up the ghost; allow yourself to see this through to the end.

"I love him," you say, and she nods.

But you keep on kissing her.


End file.
